


A Thorough Investigative Procedure

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, R/NC-17 - Brown Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-07
Updated: 2008-04-07
Packaged: 2019-01-20 19:32:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Sam decides to investigate his attraction to Gene the only way a good copper can.





	A Thorough Investigative Procedure

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

  
Author's notes: This was written for the slashfic40 challenge on LJ. Prompt: 028 - New.  


* * *

Sam Tyler is not gay. He’s sure of this – he’s analytical to a fault and more than slightly narcissistic if he’s being honest, so if he was gay he would’ve noticed sometime before he turned thirty-six. And yeah, maybe he’s a bit ‘light on his feet’ and there was this guy in the year above him at school who caught his eye a bit too often, but he’s been through the crisis and the crushes and the teenage confusion as well. It all ended with a resounding _straight_ , and a side of damn-heterosexual-sex-is-fun.

 

 

But he’s been having stray thoughts. The confusion of 1973, time-travel, coma, whatever the fuck is going on here has addled his mind. Thoughts that he doesn’t want to have creep in, like someone else is implanting them in his head. More than once, those thoughts have been about Gene Hunt. Usually, they feature Sam dropping to his knees in front of him and going up a few numbers on the Kinsey scale.

 

 

Sam has theories. He thinks it because of even if he can’t win the punch-ups, at least Gene would be terrified on seeing his thoughts. He thinks it because it’s just so inappropriate, it’s thrilling. He thinks it because this is all a dream and homosexuality represents something else in dreams – it’s his subconscious telling him he’s low in sodium or something. He thinks it because it would be worth it, if it would shut Gene up for a minute. He thinks it because it feels _wrong_ , especially in ’73; it’s breaking the rules and that’s hot.

 

 

Okay, he never claimed they were good theories. More confusing than being attracted to a man is that it’s this man, loud and rude and looking somewhat past his prime. Sam finds the camel coat sexy. He is beginning to feel deeply disturbed at the images his mind conjures whenever Gene enters a room. Last time he said the word “come”, completely innocently in conversation, all Sam could imagine was Gene’s semen splattering across his face.

 

 

He’s not homophobic. That’s not it. It’s just that being straight for thirty six years and then having your libido betray you, and fill your head with downright dirty pornographic thoughts of an over-weight, under-washed, Neanderthal of a man is more than a little unsettling. Even if said Neanderthal carries off his flaws in a sexy kind of way. Deeply disturbing.

 

 

A thorough investigative procedure can be applied to all areas of life. That’s what Sam tells himself as he lays on his bed, allowing his mind and his hand to wander. He raises his hips and slides his trousers and pants down – just far enough, no need to make this an event. He’s just experimenting. He wraps his right hand around his cock and strokes to full hardness. Gene.

 

 

His hand slips into a familiar rhythm and his mind slips into fantasy. He’s in Lost & Found – no, no, not yet. He’s stood outside, leaning casually against the doorframe while Gene yells in his face, getting up in his personal space, so close Sam feels his erection brush his thigh. Sam argues back, saying words but thinking about that cock pressing into his leg, that need Gene has for him. Gene cuts him off mid-tirade and whispers, low and seductive but harsh enough to be an insult, a put-down, even a threat: “Suck my cock, Tyler.”

 

 

And Sam pulls him into Lost & Found, not even bothering to lock the door. He stops them in the middle of the room, so if someone walked in they would see everything. Gene doesn’t have a wall to lean on. Sam drops to his knees wordlessly, like a good little subservient cocksucker. No time for platitudes or verbal foreplay, no “are you sure?” or whispered names. Sam enjoys the feeling of the hard, cold floor hitting his knees. He pulls Gene’s trousers and pants down around his ankles, and wraps his lips around his cock.

 

 

On the bed, Sam arches his back and twists his head on the pillow. Beads of sweat are starting to appear on his skin. His breathing is coming shallow and quick, his eyes are closed. His teeth graze over his lip. He slows his hand, now wet with pre-come, intending to draw this out until his fantasy is complete.

 

 

Sam takes him in as far as he can. He fills his mouth until his jaw protests and his gag reflex jumps. Gene is thick and heavy in his mouth. There are hands in his hair, forceful, pulling on the short strands and making his scalp hurt. Sam breathes in the musky, masculine scent. He’s painfully hard, and so he rubs himself through the rough material of his trousers, wantonly. He moans, loud and pornographic, knowing exactly what the vibrations will do to Gene.

 

 

Sam circles his thumb around the head of his cock, making his hips buck away from the bed. He moans, as loud and desperate as he sounds in his fantasy, and a tiny part of him – the tiny part that still functions in a world that isn’t filled with Gene – hopes his neighbours hear.

 

 

Gene is gasping and panting above him. He’s thrusting hard into Sam’s mouth, hurting the back of his throat in the most delicious way, and Sam is sucking as much as he can, moaning like a whore around the cock in his mouth every time he breathes out. Gene’s legs are trembling. He’s a mess, completely at Sam’s mercy. Sam imagines the thoughts running through Gene’s head, or rather the total absence of thoughts as Sam makes him lose his mind. He hears Gene muttering, groaning, repeating his name then, “Please, oh god, yes.” His tone is laced with desperation. He’s too far gone to care about dignity. All he can do is beg.

 

 

Sam feels the first hot, bitter taste against the back of his throat. He swallows and then pulls back. He drags his tongue along Gene’s cock as he draws himself away, until the final spurt hits his wet, red lips and sprays over his face.

 

 

Sam comes writhing in sweat soaked bed sheets. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, but moans anyway, the same groans and pleas Gene uttered in his fantasy, the names reversed. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. Lying in post-orgasmic haze, he feels his skin cooling as sweat evaporates. He kicks his trousers all the way off and pulls his blanket over himself. He can’t be bothered to clean up. His eyes are already starting to slide closed.

 

 

Well, that’s one thing dealt with. He wants Gene. He’s much less perturbed by all of this with the added perspective of semen drying on his sheets and sleepy comfort drifting over him. It’s certainly a new development. A little surprising. But if the reality was half as good as the fantasy, his existential angst and identity issues could go fuck themselves.

 

 

Drifting into sleep, he returns to his fantasy world, idling over how Gene might behave. He imagines Gene hauling him up by the shoulders and smirking at the dark stain where he came in his pants. They’d stumble over to the nearest wall and rest against it, sweaty and smiling and breathless. They’d make eye contact for the first time since arguing in the hallway. “I love you.”

 

 

Oh, bollocks.


End file.
